


But Don't Look Back in Anger

by Meyers1020



Series: Time After Time [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Abby Ships Bellarke, Alternate POV, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence... of a Canon Divergence, F/M, but she's not that bad, even though she pretends otherwise, she has complicated feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:33:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27093592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meyers1020/pseuds/Meyers1020
Summary: Abby Griffin is a rational person. She’s a doctor, a scientist, who makes decisions based on fact and logic. She does not jump to conclusions or act emotionally.But still, there are some things sheknowsunquestionably.The first is that she loves her daughter.The second is that she hates Bellamy Blake.The third is, beyond all reason or logic, the two children Clarke and Bellamy brought through the gates of Arcadia aretheirs, even if that’s impossible.Or: Some Abby POV ofTime After Timeand beyond.
Relationships: Abby Griffin/Marcus Kane, Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Time After Time [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1975162
Comments: 3
Kudos: 102





	But Don't Look Back in Anger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheWordsInMyHead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWordsInMyHead/gifts).



> So, Words’ TAT is kind of... a big deal for me? I totally fangirl over it. I 100% begged her to write it even when she was supposed to be working on other things. I love tropes, they’re my favorite, and everything about TAT is the best. It deserves all the love, in my book. 
> 
> When we were writing HoM, I had a thought about Abby in TAT, and it wouldn’t leave me alone. To the point that the working title of this is “HoMStuffers” because I was supposed to be sorting out HoM stuff instead of writing this. So, here is what was supposed to be a very short one-shot into Abby’s TAT perspective. Idk wtf happened. 
> 
> I have zero self-control in general (when it comes to Bellarke, in particular) but especially on projects with Words. 
> 
> Also, I’m trying to convince her to write more TAT outtakes/connected one-shots, so there’s that (I didn’t invent the new kiddos names or the timeline, she did. Just saying). 
> 
> Hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> -Meyers 
> 
> PS: Still writing the HoM Murphy, so don’t worry about that.

Abby POV

There are a lot of things that Abby Griffin despises about Bellamy Blake. 

He's rash, impertinent, and overconfident. He has a charisma that even Kane struggles to match. His people not only respect him but love him in a way the people of the Ark have never loved her or any member of the council. His very presence here poses a threat to the society they are trying to create. He's a criminal, whose only saving grace is that her daughter was stubborn enough to insist upon his pardon. 

Her daughter’s attachment to him is perhaps what she despises most. 

Clarke looks at Bellamy Blake with the absolute trust that a child holds for their parent and protector, a trust young Clarke reserved for Jake alone. She challenges him with the confidence only someone comfortable that they will not be abandoned can, equal parts force and respect, with a belief in the strength of their connection that she’s only ever shared with Wells. Perhaps worst of all, she returns his smiles authentically, not in pacification or comfort, but with a genuine warmth there that she offers only him. 

Abby sees none of those things reflected back at her when her daughter manages to look her in the eye these days. 

Admittedly, that’s not _his_ fault. 

Nor is it his fault that he is always the last person to see Clarke before she goes. Abby hates him for it just the same. 

How is it that Bellamy Blake is the only person her daughter cares enough to say goodbye to? 

Worse yet, how is it that he is the only person who ever manages to bring her back after she slips through Abby’s fingers? 

Abby should be thankful for that – too many times she’s had to fear that this will be the time she’s lost Clarke forever, yet somehow, he always manages to find her daughter and bring her home – but each time he succeeds with her daughter where she fails, she feels her resentment grow. 

Each day that Clarke is gone, Abby despises Bellamy Blake a little more. He is the only person with the power to make Clarke come home, a fact that makes her seethe with jealousy, and she hates him more with each passing day that he fails to use it. 

#

Her hatred becomes a living thing in the month after Clarke leaves him at the gate, one that dies a quick death the day Nathan Miller and company return from hunting without him. 

She hates herself then, as her blood runs cold at the thought of Clarke coming back one day and having to tell her what happened in her absence. She'll never forgive her – Abby or herself. 

Without thinking, Abby finds herself in the thick of things at Kane's side. Before they're even in shouting distance, she's visually assessing every member of the party for wounds or blood and wondering if she should have grabbed her medical bag first, but there's nothing. No signs of trouble or even concern on the faces that greet her. Not the slightest hint of what happened or why they've returned short a member. 

In a blink, they're there, and she's taking over, demanding to know what happened. Marcus places a hand on her elbow, probably intending to soothe, but she can't when her mind keeps flashing between the accusing, unforgiving expression Clarke gives her and the open, trusting one she gives only Bellamy. She shakes Marcus off and levels a glare at Nathan Miller. 

“Where is he?” 

Nathan is unimpressed, his expression carefully blank as he studies her. Finally, he gives an unaffected shrug, “He told us to go ahead.” 

“That is not what I asked,” she says coolly, trying to control her raging emotions. She wants to shout at him. She wants to panic. She wants Bellamy back, because she wants her daughter back. 

The boy weighs her once more and his expression shifts into something, not soft, but maybe understanding, before clearing once more. “He knows what he's doing.” 

That's another thing she hates about Bellamy Blake – he inspires genuine loyalty. 

“What exactly is he doing?” Marcus begins to ask at her side, squeezing her arm lightly in reassurance. 

She shrugs him off again and walks away, not waiting for a response. There’s no point. Nathan isn't going to talk. 

She does run through the conversation again as she walks. Nathan very carefully never made mention of when or if Bellamy would be returning, but she can't bring herself to believe that he won't. He waits for Clarke just as surely as she does, so now she waits for him. 

#

“You left.” 

It’s the first thing Marcus says when he finds her at the top of the hill. She heard his approach, but he made no effort to greet her, and she ignored his presence in turn, eyes fixed on the tree line in vigil. 

“Nathan Miller is Bellamy Blake’s right hand man. He wasn’t going to tell you anything,” she replies, using the same mild tone he gave her. 

He comes to stand at her side, but she doesn’t turn to look at him. In her periphery, she can see he watches the trees with her. He stays silent while she stews, going over it in her head, passing the blame back and forth between them all in her head. 

Shame, self-loathing, and resentment war within her as she tries to decide whether it's her own fault or Bellamy’s. Clarke’s or Marcus’s. The Ark’s or the Grounders’. There’s plenty of it to go around, but never enough to put her at ease. 

“We shouldn’t have sent him out there,” she says when she finally cannot stand to listen to herself think anymore. 

“You know why we did,” he replies calmly, unperturbed. 

_Because he couldn’t bring her back if he was stuck in here,_ Abby thinks. Though part of her knows that isn’t quite true. If Bellamy wanted to get to Clarke, he’d find a way. He’s proven that. 

“It was irresponsible,” she settles on. It _was_ irresponsible on her end. “ _He’s_ irresponsible.” 

“He’s the most knowledgeable and capable resource we have in this camp, Abby. You know that.” He pauses, gently reaching out and turning her to face him. She resists, allowing her body to be moved but still looking out. He doesn't speak at first, waiting until she gives him her full attention before rubbing her arms as he says, “You don’t have to worry.” 

His voice is soothing and his gaze full of conviction as he wills her to believe him. She hears what he doesn’t say – _He’ll be back when he’s ready. She’ll be back when she’s ready._ – but belief does not equal truth. 

You can believe you’re doing the right thing, saving someone, and still fail. You can still be partially responsible for their death. 

She pulls out of Marcus’s reassuring grasp and turns back to the wood, effectively ending the conversation. It would be nice to believe, but she knows better. So, she waits. She waits and prays that the next time she sees her daughter, it won’t be with condolences waiting behind her lips. 

#

It’s with a relieved breath from her that Bellamy returns, her daughter with him. 

It's a surprise that Clarke is there, but not that she returns following her abrupt disappearance after Mount Weather on his heels. 

Because _of course it is._

Abby is thankfully waiting alone atop the hill when she first catches sight of them only an hour after walking away from Marcus and Nathan. 

The vicious jealousy that lingers in her veins flares at the sight, leaving a burning trail as it boils below the surface, her focus solely on the glint of her daughter's hair; amidst her fury, she absently notes that its looks off, but the curls that are undeniably hers. The fire is soothed momentarily when she sees her daughter pause – it seems Bellamy Blake isn’t _everything,_ at least – until she finally takes in the full picture, and that _is_ a surprise. 

There’s a girl besides her daughter, older than a child but significantly younger than Clarke, who shares the same hesitant and slightly distasteful expression her daughter wears. _She_ is the reason Clarke stopped, Abby now realizes, as Clarke is angled between Arcadia and the unknown girl. Now that she can see past her envy, she notices a young boy practically attached to Bellamy, both eager and alight in a way that completely contrasts the hesitating girls, heading back toward them. Clarke must say the right thing, because the girl squares her shoulders. The two groups close the distance between each other, meeting in the middle, before joining their hands and resuming their path through the gate. 

Abby remains in her spot, making no move to meet them. 

It hurts – it feels like a stab wound to the chest – but her instincts are screaming that rushing Clarke right now could send her running. There are enough people there crowding the group, Bellamy standing at Clarke's side like a sentry and moral support all rolled into one. 

Marcus finds her again as she watches the display. 

“I’m surprised you aren't down there.” 

“I’ll have time to talk to her later,” she lies, as if she isn't trying not to cringe every time she sees Clarke draw her strength from _him._

Marcus raises a questioning brow at her. “What makes you so sure she's staying?” 

She _is_ afraid that Clarke is going to turn tail and run at the first opportunity - it's why she's keeping her feet rooted firmly to the ground in order to avoid scaring her off - but the rational part of her brain knows better. Clarke is her father’s daughter, she has a protective streak that runs deep, and even at this distance she can see that Clarke cares for these children too much to abandon them, even if the hesitance in her steps shows that she wants to flee. 

That's not even mentioning the way that every time Bellamy moves with Clarke, she moves with him in turn, eerily in sync to make sure they accommodate one another without getting in the other's way. She doesn't want to deal with that just yet. 

“She's my daughter,” she settles on. 

It's true enough. She knows all these things because she knows Clarke, knows both the girl Abby wishes she still was and the most important parts of the woman she has become. Even when she tries to deny it, she still knows. 

#

She doesn’t get a chance to talk to her daughter until dinner is ending. 

Clarke had been conspicuous, but also absent, all day. It doesn’t seem as though Clarke is avoiding _her_ , specifically, but more that she is avoiding everyone. Every person Abby finds has had the same experience – they saw her briefly with Bellamy and the children before the group quickly moved on. The story of where Clarke has been and how she has returned comes to her in bits and pieces from numerous sources. 

Kane tells her the story the hunting party gave: Bellamy was sent to fetch water but didn’t return immediately. Miller went to investigate and found him with Clarke and the two children. _Cassandra and EJ_ , she corrects herself. They have names. Clarke is clearly attached to them, according to the men. She refused to leave them, hovered even, according to some reports. No one could tell her how long they’d been together, only that Clarke had found them on the other side of the river, two children who grew up as neighbors on Factory Station and now are the sole survivors of its wreckage. 

Abby knows from a somewhat perplexed, but largely unconcerned, Jackson that one of the first things Clarke did was head to medical. She insisted on it being just her, Bellamy, and the children – claiming the kids were nervous around strangers after so long alone on the ground – running tests to make sure they two youngsters weren’t injured in the landing or malnourished from two months alone. 

Raven informs her with a scowl that Clarke has been on her own, “reflecting or some shit. I don’t know.” Abby purses her lips at the knowledge – _how is that better than being here?_ – and sees her own frustration mirrored in Raven’s expression. More, she sees the same concern and relief that she feels lurking just below it. 

Miller still refuses to give her anything, aside from a stoic nod. Octavia, who stops by only briefly, looks as put out by Bellamy and Clarke eating dinner together with the kids as she’s sure she does. Lincoln, the grounder man she still doesn’t quite trust, says something in Trig that Abby doesn’t understand, but makes Octavia soften when Bellamy laughs. “She looks better,” is all he says to Abby. 

She’s not sure why, but she watches them through the mealtime instead of approaching. They’re seated in the far corner of the hall, Clarke and the girl, who she’s been told by Monty prefers the diminutive “Cas”, sit with their backs against the wall, tense and watching the crowd warily. Bellamy and EJ sit across from them, both conversing enthusiastically and trying to engage the girls. Cas gives EJ indulgent smiles from time to time, while Clarke eats at Bellamy’s prompting, offering the boy little smiles of her own whenever he turns her way. _She does look better_ , Abby decides, thinking back to how she looked before. 

Even before Mount Weather, Clarke had been haunted. It got worse in Bellamy’s absence, after she sent him into enemy territory. The return journey had been nearly unbearable, for everyone, but particularly for Clarke. 

Her daughter doesn’t look nearly so haunted now, just skittish. She even jumps slightly when Abby stops her on her way back from the trash with a gentle touch to her arm. 

“Mom,” she says, clearly startled. The smile she gives makes Abby want to grimace, but she forces herself to smile back as reassuringly as she can. She’s happy to see Clarke, she should be able to smile genuinely; Clarke seems happy to see her too, to an extent, though she chooses not to focus on the latter part. “Hi,” she adds, almost as an afterthought, giving her a tentative hug. 

Abby returns it. “Clarke, honey, it’s so good to see you,” she says, reveling in the feel of her daughter. 

She knew she was back, but it didn’t feel real until she feels her in her arms. Her smile grows brighter, more real as the sensation settles in. She pulls back when she can no longer deny Clarke’s growing discomfort, but she doesn’t let it deter her, reaching out and brushing some stray curls behind Clarke’s ear. 

“It’s good to have you back,” she tells her fervently. 

“Yeah,” Clarke replies weakly, her gaze looking over Abby’s shoulder. 

Abby looks her over, taking in the changes she sees – Clarke's cheeks are thinner, her lips chapped with a small cut in the corner, and there are bags under her eyes. She cups her cheek, “You look like you could use some rest. If you’re done, I’ll take you back to our room.” 

Clarke’s gaze shoots to hers, her eyes wide. “What?” 

Abby frowns slightly. “I said I’ll take you back to our room. You weren’t here, but I made sure we were assigned together. There’s a bed waiting for you, and all your things.” 

Those _things_ weren’t much, mostly a collection of sketches, detailing the medicinal plants she’d worked out and where they could be found. One of Wells and another little girl Abby didn’t recognize. A few odds and ends the others claimed were Clarke’s, but that Abby wouldn’t have been able to recognize herself. But the point remained that Abby had saved them for Clarke, saved a _spot_ for Clarke, so that she could always come home. 

She smiles at her daughter hopefully, invitingly, trying to reassure her that everything can go back to normal now. 

Clarke pulls back sharply. “Mom, _no._ ” 

Abby feels her face go slack, feeling like she’s been slapped by the quick refusal. Clarke registers the expression and rushes to reassure her. 

“I didn’t mean – it's not _you,_ ” she insists quickly, nearly tripping over the words in her haste. “I was planning on staying with the kids.” 

She purses her lips, not quite in disapproval, but something adjacent. They’re not Clarke’s responsibility. Clarke needs to be taking care of herself, right now. Obviously, she’s been through some trauma. She can’t even seem to focus on their conversation, her gaze elsewhere half the time. “Clarke. You don’t need to worry about that. There’s a larger section where the displaced children stay together, with a rotating shift of people watching over them in case they need anything. They’ll be fine.” 

Clarke stiffens, her mouth opening without sound for a moment, before relief shows in her eyes and Abby hears the last person she wants to. 

“Everything alright over here?” 

Abby barely manages to keep her face impassive, but she inclines her head in his direction. “Guardsman Blake.” 

Clarke shoots her a disgruntled look that she ignores. 

“Doctor Griffin,” Bellamy responds, mirroring her - _maybe she was a bit colder than she intended_ – but quickly turns his attention back to her daughter, his voice turning softer despite deepening. “Clarke?" 

Clarke doesn't smile at him, but the tight set of her mouth slips, the stress visibly sliding off her. “My mom was just saying I have a room with her,” she meets his eyes. The jealous feeling flares again as Abby realizes Clarke is communicating something to him that she cannot comprehend. It burns when she sees understanding cross his features when his eyes dart to hers before returning to Clarke. 

He nods at her daughter, smiling easily. “They can have mine,” he says casual as anything, but it isn’t a suggestion. She’s seen him take that stance before – shoulders back, chin up, stare firm – and it’s always when he expects to be followed without question. “I still have a tent. I’ll be just outside.” 

Her skin crawls at the way he says it, gaze focused solely on her daughter. It sounds like a threat to her ears, but when she looks at Clarke and sees the small but true smile her daughter is aiming at him, Abby realizes that it’s a promise. 

She _hates_ him. 

#

Clarke’s pristine bed is an unwelcome sight the second morning. 

She’s accustomed to Clarke slipping out of bed during the night and wandering. She’d worried, the first night, but after checking with the guards and confirming that Clarke wasn’t _leaving_ , she decided to let it go. There’s only so much that she can reasonably push for right now – sometimes she thinks she’s lucky Clarke agreed to stay with her in any capacity – and a little late-night wandering isn’t worth the argument. They have enough to argue about already, as demonstrated by that disaster of a council meeting last night. 

In Clarke’s absence, Bellamy had remained on the council and often fought with them, dragging the meetings out unnecessarily by bringing up issue after issue or nitpicking every proposed solution. In the end, he always managed to finagle a few things here or there, but she always felt like she came out on top when they ended. 

If she thought having Clarke back was going to make things smoother, she was dead wrong. 

Clarke is even more difficult than Bellamy. 

She’s more stubborn, for one. She also agrees with Bellamy on nearly every point – the night before had felt like rehashing every argument Blake had made over the last month all at once, except streamlined and more effective. Clarke knows how the council works, knows all its members and what buttons to press, and she was infinitely more skilled at manipulating them into giving her what she wants, or rather, what Bellamy wanted. 

Abby had watched him last night, expecting him to be angry or frustrated that Clarke had achieved what he attempted with such ease, but instead he looked proud. Sure, there had been the token frustration that simply being in the presence of the council puts on his face, but he watched Clarke with pride and admiration the entire time, his expression shifting to support whenever she looked over at him for confirmation. It was only as the night drew on and it got late, that he truly became agitated. It seemed to grow in congruence with Clarke’s. 

At one point, Abby caught them watching each other, locked in a silent conversation, and ignoring the meeting entirely. When it ended, Bellamy slipped quietly out of the room. It didn’t help Clarke’s concentration, who suddenly seemed agitated and distracted, watching the clock anxiously. Abby had foolishly thought she was tired, but she’d seen Clarke bolt for Bellamy’s quarters as soon as the meeting ended. She sighed heavily, making her way back to their room to wait for her, figuring Clarke would be back shortly. 

Abby fell asleep before Clarke returned, which makes sense, given that she _didn’t_ return. 

She doesn’t know for sure that Clarke stayed with the children, of course, but that’s her best guess. It’s still early - earlier than Clarke or the children need to be up - so she stops by the kitchens and grabs rations for them all, feeling optimistic. 

The children are clearly important to Clarke. Not that she didn’t know that before, but more important than Abby had allowed for. Now that she knows, though, she can work with it. If Cas and EJ are Clarke’s number one priority, Abby can make them important too. She’s not trying to be duplicitous; she genuinely wants to be involved in Clarke’s life, and to do that, she has to prove that she cares. 

She’s always been better with actions than with words. 

There’s a smile on her face when she knocks lightly. It’s quickly wiped away when Bellamy Blake is the one to answer, opening it only enough to allow him to see her. If he’s surprised, she can’t see it in the shadows of the dark room, but she does see when he turns his head, apparently checking behind him. Only half turning in her direction, he whispers, “Just a minute.” 

He closes the door without waiting for a response. Abby doesn’t even react in her shock, but she feels the stirrings of adrenaline and something far more unpleasant. Before she can fully process it, he’s cracking the door and slipping through a slot too small for her to peek into the room. 

In the full light, she can see he’s sleep-rumpled, sockless with his boots untied, shirt wrinkled and hair even more untidy than usual. He’s also watching her through tired, red eyes, appraising her. 

“What can I do for you, Doctor Griffin?” he asks, voice rough with disuse. 

“I want to see my daughter,” she states. She doesn’t bother asking if she’s there, already knowing she must be. If Bellamy is present, of course Clarke is too. 

“And you thought you’d find her here?” he asks archly. 

“She wasn’t in her bed,” she says accusingly. “Where else would she be?” 

He gives her a thoroughly unimpressed look, crossing his arms. “That’s her business, don’t you think?” 

“Blake,” she starts, her rage boiling over, only for him to shush her. 

_He just shushed her._

“The kids are asleep,” he says sharply, though much quieter. “I can’t help you, but whatever it is can wait. She’ll find you when she’s ready. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have training to get to.” 

It’s a dismissal, one she’s not about to take. “Good to see you’re not neglecting _all_ your duties,” she sniffs. “Just the ones Clarke can take on.” 

The vindictive pleasure she feels as she watches his face tighten disturbs her slightly. It’s petty, something she should be above, but the fact remains that she isn’t. She wants to beat Bellamy Blake, in whatever form the challenge takes. To her disappointment, he quickly controls the flare of temper she saw, exhaling heavily before speaking in a carefully level tone. 

“Have a good day, Doctor Griffin.” 

She wants to fight him further, but if Clarke is in there – and she knows she is – she wouldn’t take kindly to Abby arguing with Bellamy, nor would she stand for Abby waking the children, so she bites back on her anger and grits out, “Thanks for the help, as always, Guardsman Blake.” 

His cheek twitches and she glares in response, but he doesn’t respond to that, slipping back into his room without further comment. 

Feeling angry and defeated, Abby heads to the medical lab. There’s always something for her to grind into medicine there. Maybe if she pictures his face, it will make the task enjoyable. 

#

Denial can be an irresistible urge, a human imperative that allows for functioning in even the most overwhelming of situations. 

Abby should know. She has had plenty of practice with it. 

Still, she's never felt it quite as strongly as the first time she meets Cassandra a few days later. It really comes down to luck that she does at all, bumping into her outside Bellamy's quarters in search of Clarke. Not only has her daughter has done a good job of keeping them at a distance from one another, but the younger girl seems just as inclined to avoid most of population in Arcadia as a rule. 

Still, fate is on her side and she _does_ come face to face with her, and immediately, she _knows._

Cassandra’s hair is the same brown up close as it is at a distance, her skin the same light tan she expected, and her frame slight. 

But the thick texture of those curls are too familiar up close, the smooth skin dotted with a familiar – and disconcerting – sprinkling of freckles, and the way she holds her shoulders in feigned confidence is too recognizable, and she _knows._

If all that weren't enough, the startling blue of her eyes - Clarke's eyes, _Jake’s_ eyes – and she _knows_ , even if she doesn't know how. 

When Clarke exits the room behind Cas, quickly sending her away, eyes – those same eyes – communicating silently with one another one set concerned, the other grateful, she doesn't think Clarke knows in the way Abby does, but she thinks that Clarke must, deep down. 

She stands between Abby and Cas's retreating figure, arms crossed and posture rigid with defiance and radiating menace. It's so reminiscent of a mama bear protecting her cub that were Abby anyone else, she'd be terrified to cross her. As it is, Abby notes the slight petulance, can see the echoes of preteen Clarke in it, can see the resemblance to Cas, but she doesn't follow that train of thought. 

Clarke's, probably subconscious, denial, allows her to push the thought back for the time being. After all, it's insane, impossible even. 

With determination, she focuses on _her_ daughter, who came back but also hasn't come back to _her,_ and gets back to her original purpose here, “You need to come home, Clarke.” 

“I did,” Clarke responds immediately. She quickly corrects, “I am.” 

“You have your own quarters,” she tells her pointedly. 

“You mean your quarters, where you expected me to stay,” her mouth twists in distaste. “Which I did – _do._ ” 

Abby shakes her head in disbelief. Clarke is frustrated, not defensive. Her daughter doesn't care what she thinks; she only wants to be done with this conversation. Abby doesn't want a fight, but she does want to determine where exactly Clarke stands, if she's even aware of the situation she's put herself in. 

“Storing your things there and coming by to change does not constitute staying there.” 

She glares. “I'm busy. I hardly spend any time anywhere. You should be familiar with it. You're hardly there either.” 

“Yet, I was there last night, and the night before and the one before that. You weren't. It doesn’t take much to put together that you were here.” 

“I don't sleep much, and I like checking in on the kids.” 

“And Bellamy?” 

Finally, Clarke breaks her confident façade, eyes darting to the side. “You've met Bellamy. There's no one he doesn't feel compelled to keep an eye on.” 

“You cannot live with Bellamy Blake, Clarke,” Abby finally says, straight to the point. “Do you have any idea what this looks like? What people are saying?” 

Clarke's eyes flick back to hers, all blue fire that threaten to burn her where she stands. “They say horrible things about me every single day. The grounders call me _Wanheda,_ ” Abby shivers at the name. _Commander of Death._ She can see it, in the look Clarke is giving her now, and she hates the title. This woman, the one promising vengeance and destruction to anyone who crosses her, is not who her daughter is. A short cold laugh escapes the stranger before her. “ _Wanheda,_ and you think it matters what they say about me and _Bellamy_. Unbelievable.” 

“Clarke,” she begins, trying to backtrack. It was insensitive to say, wrong to imply that this part of her reputation is somehow more important. That's not what she meant. It’s only that she misses her daughter. If she’s honest, she's jealous that her daughter came home but still hasn't returned to her. She's cut off when the object of her jealousy rounds the corner, a plate of food in his hand. 

His eyes seek Clarke out immediately, as if there’s some otherworldly force that draws him to her without his conscious input, before darting to Abby briefly. He stands tall, but with an air of ease, as he focuses on Clarke and ignores her for the moment. Part of her seethes at the disrespect, but she’s mostly grateful she doesn’t have to deal with him right now with the surge of jealousy she feels as she watches the tension fall off Clarke like water at the sight of him. 

Turning her attention solely on him, Clarke asks, “Where are the kids?” 

“The kids are fine,” he tells her soothingly. 

Abby cringes at how casually they refer to these children as if they belong to them. 

Clarke eyes him doubtfully, and Bellamy rolls his eyes good-naturedly before elaborating. “They _are_ fine. Cas took my spot with EJ, who was sitting with Miller and Raven. Stop worrying.” 

“Then what are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be at training any minute?” 

“Cas told me you got caught up and breakfast is almost over,” his face shifts, a boyish smirk that makes him look much younger sliding into place as he teases, “and we can’t have you missing any more meals. You look like shit, Clarke.” 

Abby scowls, glaring at him, but Clarke _laughs_. It’s weak, a surprised puff of air more than anything, but it’s a genuine sound of amusement. Abby can’t remember the last time she heard Clarke laugh, and yet Bellamy draws one out of her as easy as breathing with absolutely terrible humor. 

She clears her throat. 

They both snap to attention, their amusement vanishing instantly. Bellamy’s expression is mild, but she thinks she sees something vaguely accusing behind it, and Clarke openly scowls until Bellamy nudges her and she exhales heavily. 

Now she just looks tired. 

“I’ve got to go, Mom,” she says without inflection. “I promised EJ and Cas I’d show them a few things today, and Bellamy has training. I’ll see you later, okay?” 

Abby barely has time to grudgingly agree before Clarke is spinning on her heal and walking away, leaving Bellamy behind with a significant look and a grateful squeeze to his bicep. 

He watches Clarke walk away with soft eyes until she’s out of sight. When he finally remembers she is still there, he jolts again, but only for a moment before he smiles falsely at her glare. Grabbing the apple off the tray Clarke left behind and taking a bite before nodding in farewell, he disappears in the opposite direction as quickly as he arrived. 

She doesn’t think she imagines the smug satisfaction in his step as he walks away, as if he considers the interruption a job well-done. 

_Bellamy Blake is a menace._

#

She stands in the hall long after they’ve left, considering. It’s as good a place as any, and she can visualize Clarke and Casandra standing next to each other, just feet from this spot, where she is. If she leaves, it may feel more like a dream. 

It makes no sense to her that a man who looks into her daughter's eyes with such intensity could possibly miss that they are mirrored in Cas, and she begins to doubt what she saw. Maybe it was just the startling combination. Maybe it was just because her thoughts were so intent on finding Clarke. Maybe it was just the similar color and the shared wariness there. 

It rankles that Bellamy Blake's judgement is the one to shake hers. 

But it's not really that, she consoles herself. It was a silly thought, really. One that makes no sense. The only possible explanation could be time travel and that's simply ludicrous. 

She's just tired. Worried. Overwhelmed. 

With a resigned sigh, she gives up for now, turning on her heel to head back to her own quarters. 

Denial makes it easy to believe that sleep will clear her mind and put her ridiculous notions to rest. 

It never really does. 

#

The suspicion lingers on the edge of her consciousness, roaring into the foreground every time she so much as catches sight of them. 

Clarke, with Bellamy's willing assistance, does her best to keep Abby away from the children, it seems – or maybe she’s just avoiding Abby with the exception of council meetings, which seem to be the only time that neither one or the other is with the children – but with a settlement this small, it's impossible for Abby not to see some things. 

Cas is left-handed, like Clarke, and her elbows overextend the same way. EJ’s smirk is a mirror of Bellamy's, dimples and all, and his ears are shaped the same. 

If it weren't physically impossible – for all the differences in their maturity, Clarke can't be more than six physical years older than Cas – everyone would assume the four of them were a biological family. 

It’s over a month before she has enough privacy with her daughter to even consider raising the topic. 

Even then, she doesn’t begin immediately, because Clarke has voluntarily sought her out, which would be worrying enough without the sudden interest in radiation poisoning. 

Abby knows her daughter well enough to tell idle questioning from something that's truly worrying her -Clarke has never been a good liar, she has too much of Jake in her for that – even before she snaps at her harshly, “ _You don’t know that.”_

She’s too shocked to respond for a moment. Clarke is competent, beyond competent. Had it not been for her, Abby isn’t sure any of the hundred would have survived long enough to be reunited with the rest of the Ark, and she hadn’t meant to imply otherwise. She’s pretty sure she didn’t. 

Which means Clarke’s defensiveness is a cover for something else: fear. It must run deep if Clarke is coming to _her_ for it. She wants to know what this is truly about, if she can help at all, but she holds back, listing the symptoms as dispassionately as possible. If she’s learned anything about her relationship with her daughter recently, it’s that she’s going to have to earn it. 

“...dizziness, headaches, disorientation even just plain old exhaustion,” as she gets into the subtler symptoms, the interest takes on new meaning as she takes in the bags under Clarke’s eyes and the way she leans against the wall for support, and she can’t help asking, “Clarke, you’re feeling okay?” 

Clarke quickly denies any issues, but there’s an exasperation to her response that goes further than Abby’s gentle inquiry demands, so she presses just a little bit further. The denial she spews is passionate, but not at all reassuring. 

But Clarke brings up Bellamy, and it seems like an opportunity to test the waters. She frowns to herself, weighing the risks. Clarke avoids discussing Bellamy or the kids with her as much as possible, the former because of her generally inability to hide her distaste for him and the latter out of her protective instincts. 

Of course Clarke doesn’t miss it, though she does misinterpret it. 

“There’s that look again!” She accuses, continuing before Abby can begin to defend herself, “I know you aren’t Bellamy’s biggest fan, but he’s important to me, alright? And more importantly, he’s not going anywhere. I’m not saying you have to love him, but I do, so you need to get over whatever issues you have with him.” 

She tries to keep herself calm as she replies, there's no need to start out on a bad note. “No. I mean, I'm not—” she stops, giving up the attempt to equivocate. She doesn’t need to, nor should she, begin with a lie. “Am I thrilled that my eighteen-year-old daughter is pretty much living with a guy years older than her? Absolutely not, but that’s not the issue. God, Clarke…” she breathes out heavily, feeling like she’s committing an offense simply by giving voice to the idea, even so loosely. “you should see the four of you together." 

“The four of us?” Clarke asks in confusion, “You mean Cas and EJ?” 

She nods her head yes, weighing her next words carefully. Cautiously, she adds, “You look like a family.” 

There's a flash of something like recognition in Clarke’s eyes, but it isn’t one of fear. She does take time thinking over her response, but it’s good. It gives Abby time to think through what’s been said so far, and she finds herself surprised that they’ve made it this far; honestly, she expected Clarke to shut down and run the moment she pursued this avenue of conversation. Finally, she responds, “We are just looking out for them.” 

The words are as carefully measured as Abby’s own were, but it means they’re both trying, as difficult as it is, so she presses her luck, “I mean, they aren’t your kids obviously, but if you squint, it almost seems like maybe they could be and that’s just insane…” Suddenly, a knew thought occurs to her as earlier parts of the conversation click into place. She said she loves Bellamy – something Abby has always known, but never thought Clarke would admit, let alone to her – which means... “you and Bellamy are being careful, right?” 

Apparently, that’s the line, because Clarke immediately begins to withdraw. 

Abby tries to hold back her frustration. She’s trying, damn it, but it’s a big deal for a lot of reasons. On one hand, a child is a huge commitment, particularly for two so young, and she tells Clarke as much. Focusing on the rational, reasonable objections they should have to becoming parents right now. 

“You need to take this seriously,” she tells Clarke harshly. 

Clarke doesn’t, though she tries to soothe the sting of her escape. “Look, I’m not taking my implant out any time soon so you can relax, okay." 

And that makes Abby’s blood run cold. Because there’s no implant to remove. She would think Bellamy would know that and have told Clarke. But Abby knows it too and understands Clarke was already gone by the time they realized it, but she didn’t think to tell her either. 

“Bellamy never talked to you?” she asks, somewhat desperately, hoping he took care of her daughter where she failed yet again. She wouldn’t even resent him, this time, if that were the case. 

“About kids?” she asks back confused. 

“No,” Abby says shakily as the pieces come together. It washes over her, everything clicking into place. She explains on instinct, forcing the words out on the off-chance that Clarke will confirm she knows all this, even though she knows it won’t happen. All her worst fears seem to be confirmed when Clarke bolts. 

In the quiet, empty room, her thoughts spiral beyond her control. 

She meant what she said. Clarke is only eighteen, Bellamy only twenty-three. They’re so _young_. Too young to be responsible for a child. 

Even though that’s not entirely true. 

They haven’t been children since they hit the ground and took responsibility for the hundred other children that joined them. No matter how much Abby tries to take the burden off their shoulders, tries to rewind time and give Clarke back the freedom of childhood, she can’t, because Clarke refuses to give up the responsibility. Bellamy is the same, though she doubts he ever had a childhood to speak of with Octavia around. 

And all that was before they found Casandra and EJ. 

If it were an impossible task before, she doesn’t even know what to call it now. 

Those two are their children, for all intents and purposes, even more than what’s left of the hundred. 

That thought brings her back around to the true focal point of her worries, because more and more she believes that they _are_ their children in the biological sense. Above and beyond the already complicated implications of that, is the knowledge that if Cas and EJ are their children... well, it’s obvious that Cas and EJ are orphans, which means Clarke must be dead, and Bellamy too. If they’re asking about radiation, then they likely all are. Except for the children, somehow. Which doesn’t make sense. None of it makes sense. But it also _does_ and that’s - 

The opening of the door breaks into her thoughts, and Abby grabs onto the distraction like a lifeline, “Clarke! Where did you run off to - _Bellamy.”_

She should have known. It always comes back to him. Clarke always comes back to him. Abby feels the familiar burn of jealousy as she watches her daughter cling to him like she needs him to face her own mother, and she tries to not let it show, but it’s so incredibly difficult. 

Her takes a moment to try to rein it in, but her tone is still more disapproving than she intends when she manages to speak, “You left before I could check if you have the implant still.” 

The conversation that follows shatters a subset of her carefully crafted denial and confirms some old suspicions. When Bellamy let Clarke leave after the fall of the Mountain, she assumed she must have been wrong, but she’d been right back then it seems. She feels the familiar urge to assault him, scream at him for letting Clarke leave, but she bites it back in the face of his steady stare. He isn’t afraid of her, standing tall and strong at Clarke’s side like there’s nowhere he’d rather be, and that will have to be enough to satisfy her for now. Clarke is here, and she likely wouldn’t be without him. If Abby pushes him too far, Clarke will leave her behind again, not him. 

“Okay. If you’re that far along, let’s just do an ultrasound to see,” she says dispassionately. 

Leaving the room to collect the portable ultrasound, she gives herself two minutes to compartmentalize. She’s a doctor. She’s treated Clarke before, and countless other people she knows personally, and she can be a professional about this. Forcing herself to forget that she’s dealing with her daughter and the man-child she hates, she returns to the room. 

Her disassociating lasts only until she sees them, curled into one another trading soft looks and softer words. 

A lump rises in her throat. Clarke and Bellamy are so often united, a team, partners; they are so serious, so clearly attached to one another in an unbreakable way that it disturbs her with its depths. 

But not like this. 

She knew, intellectually, that they were together, that they loved each other, but she’s never seen them looking so much like _lovers._ It makes them look younger, freer, happier, despite the uncertain circumstances they are in. 

It terrifies her, so she focuses on running the ultrasound. 

The sound of a galloping heartbeat fills the air, expected but no less moving. Abby’s heart races, snapping her gaze to her daughter. When she notices Clarke staring at the side of the screen, she turns it in her direction, heart in her throat as she watches Clarke eagerly taking in the small form displayed there. Abby’s heart lurches into her throat as she recognizes Clarke’s expression - the overwhelming _love_ there as Clarke recognizes all the tiny parts on the screen. 

It isn’t until Clarke squeezes Bellamy’s hand that she realizes he had been holding his breath. She appraises him, the shock and incredulity as the heartbeat registers, and then the confusion as he tries to see what Clarke sees. 

Abby should probably do something, explain it to him, to Clarke even, but she can’t separate the patient from her daughter. That heartbeat belongs to her daughter’s child, _her_ grandchild. 

“That’s their head,” Clarke explains softly, a motherly gentleness already heavy in her tone, “their body, their arms, and their legs.” 

Bellamy inhales sharply, leaning forward to get a closer look. His voice lowers, turns into something soft as a coo when he says, “They are so little.” 

“They actually aren’t,” Abby cuts in, “Your estimate was right, I’d put you at 12 weeks.” 

If Clarke hears the unspoken question in her words, she makes no sign of it. Abby doesn’t blame her – it's not as if she really _wants_ to know either – but she thinks it’s more that she’s captivated by the image of the child growing in her womb than willful ignorance. Her bright eyes haven’t wavered from the screen in some minutes. Her voice full of reverence, she says, “The heart rate is strong too.” 

“So, everything looks good?” Bellamy asks. 

“Everything looks great, Bellamy,” Abby reassures him, unable to help the thawing she feels at the worry coming off him. 

She still doesn’t like Bellamy Blake, probably never will, but the wonder and love in his eyes is too reminiscent of Jake for her to hate him in this moment. 

#

When Clarke is four months along, two things of importance happen: they confirm via ultrasound that the baby Clarke is carrying is a girl and the medical equipment from Mount Weather is salvaged and set up in Arkadia. 

Suddenly, Abby has access to everything she needs to confirm whether the baby is Casandra. She itches with it, knowing that the information is already _there,_ just waiting for her should she choose to seek it out. Abby could make a current physical and blood test mandatory for all residents ( _which actually might be a good idea_ , she muses, _in terms of new records_ ), but she doesn’t. 

She tempers the impulse, knowing that it wouldn’t provide the confirmation she truly needs. She doesn’t need the bloodwork to know that Cas is Clarke’s; what she needs is to know is if Cas is _this_ child, and, furthermore, what that means for all of them. 

Her mind goes back to Clarke’s questions about radiation, from time to time, and she does her best to quietly look for any signs. She considers the blood tests again but doesn’t know how to justify it to Kane or Jaha or anyone else without giving away what she suspects. Clarke either doesn’t know or doesn’t trust her with it, and Abby’s trying to earn back that trust; if she were to give this away, any hope she has of rekindling a relationship with Clarke will be ruined forever. 

That’s the last thing she wants. She wants to know because she wants to help, and she can’t do that without all the facts. Any time she gets even slightly near the topic, however, Clarke clams up, so she’s stopped asking. 

Then a third things happens: Clarke and Bellamy come to the council, minus one, with the information about Jaha, ALIE, and the reactors. 

It’s bizarre, frightening and fascinating in equal measure, the idea of an AI and the virtual reality it wants humanity to convert to. What’s more pressing, though, is learning that the reactors are melting down. 

It makes sense, in a twisted way. They would run to space fleeing radiation, only to run out of air just in time to face another death wave. It also gives credence to her theories, but she’s far too busy trying to coordinate the reactor shut down and figure how to rehabilitate anyone who might have been chipped to think about it until after the fact. 

The sense of relief and absolute joy that overtake Clarke and Bellamy when it’s all settled would be impossible to miss, though. She can see it in Cas, too, the lightening of her shoulders as the invisible weight is lifted. It’s all the proof she needs to confirm her assumptions. 

And with that, she lets it go. 

She doesn’t need to know. Not anymore. As long as they’re all safe, as long as her daughter and grandchildren are happy and healthy, that’s enough. 

It feels good. 

#

Removing the fear of radiation-based death doesn’t fix everything, however. 

Her relationship with Clarke is still a work-in-progress. Cas seems to understand this, suspicious as she seems to be of everyone and everything, picking up on Clarke’s hesitance and magnifying it. Even three months after arriving, she still tends to give Abby a wide berth whenever she can manage it. EJ, on the other hand, is just as exuberant as she imagined him to be when watching from a distance and is always friendly, happy to chat away. She still doesn’t get to spend nearly as much time with him as she would like, though, because he follows Bellamy around like a shadow. 

And she still hates Bellamy Blake. 

_Maybe ‘hate’ is too strong a word,_ she corrects herself, smiling as she watches EJ run off to greet the man at the gate when he returns with the hunting party one evening. The boy seems to have a sixth sense for when the man is nearby, drawn to him as if by magic. 

“Dad! You’re back!” he shouts with abandon, launching himself at Bellamy. 

The man himself smiles, picking the boy up with practiced ease, joy radiating out of him as they converse about their day. Bellamy listens intently as EJ rambles about all that he did in the man’s absence, never once looking bored. 

“...and I looked after Cas, Mom, and the baby, like a good knight.” Abby loses her smile at that. Clarke is happy, truly happy, with her little family. She’s visibly and undeniably with child, a little girl that Abby has seen on the ultrasound with her own eyes, but it’s still hard to think of a child calling her little girl “Mom”. Generally speaking, grandparents are granted a much longer period of adjustment. Bellamy glances at her at that moment and catches her look of distaste. _Lovely._ EJ hasn’t noticed her, though, and keeps going, “Cas was mad. ‘I’m not a princess’, she said. But the baby is a princess! She _and_ Mom, so it’s _my job._ Cas was just being -” 

“Hey, watch what you say, kiddo,” Bellamy cuts him off, but gently, softening the warning with a teasing smile. EJ smiles back bashfully and Bellamy laughs. “You did good, EJ. Thank you for watching out for them for me.” 

EJ beams with pride, and it makes Abby’s smile return in full. The little boy has that ability – he's so full of life that his joy is infectious. 

The dinner bell rings, breaking up all the reunions around her, and the paths begin to fill with people. Abby joins in, tearing herself away from the scene and beginning to make her way to the dining hall. EJ darts past her quickly, Bellamy nowhere in sight, but he seems happy, so she doesn’t worry. He probably volunteered to go get Clarke. He does love to help. 

It’s only when she feels someone tap on her shoulder and sees Bellamy there that she realizes he was probably _sent_ there to manufacture this opportunity. 

“Bellamy,” she greets neutrally. It’s not exactly warm, but it’s progress. She uses his first name. 

“Abby,” he replies, mirroring her demeanor. It used to feel like a challenge, but now it feels like he’s just following her lead. He tips his head to side, politely asking, “Do you have a moment?” 

“Yes,” she responds carefully, following him off the path to a quieter area. She studies him as they walk, trying to figure out what this is about. Her first thought is Clarke, but he hasn’t seen her yet, and he doesn’t seem worried enough for that. Still, she asks, “Is everything alright?” 

For the first time, perhaps ever, he appears nervous. He runs a hand through his hair and exhales heavily before straightening out, as if he needed to gather his resolve before addressing her. 

“I know you don’t like me,” he says calmly, but with confidence. His eyes are firm on hers, but not accusatory. She waits patiently and he nods to himself, satisfied, before continuing, sounding as though he’s had this little speech planned for a while. The thought makes her irritation with him flare, the idea that he prepared this, that he hopes to sway her like all the other people who seem to follow him blindly, but then he starts talking, and she gets absorbed in what he’s saying. “That’s fine, really. I don’t need you to, and I’m not going to try and change your mind. I am asking you to stop being so obvious about it.” 

She blinks at him in surprise. “Excuse me?” she asks, perhaps more sharply than she intends. 

He doesn’t waver. “The glares. The open condescension. It has to stop,” he says firmly. “Clarke blames herself. She says that it’s not about me, but about your issues with her. So you need to stop it, at least where other people can see, because she doesn’t need the stress of blaming herself because you feel like giving me a hard time.” 

“I didn’t know that,” she admits regretfully. Her earlier irritation with him fades as he continues, and she begins to understand. 

“We both know you have valid reasons that have nothing to do with her, but it doesn’t matter what we think. Clarke believes what she wants to believe. We may not agree on much, Abby, but we both care about her, so can we agree to make it easier on her?” he asks, extending his hand for her to shake. 

Underneath his confident façade, she sees the echo of those earlier nerves, a tentative hope that this will help Clarke. With the recognition, comes the realization that she doesn’t have any reason to hate Bellamy Blake, not anymore. He’s a good man, who not only brought her daughter home but also makes her daughter happy here. Hell, if he wanted, he could have let this drive a wedge between her and Clarke, because they both know Clarke would choose him if it became a choice. 

She takes his hand, offering him a wry smile. “I’d like that.” 

His grip falters for a moment, surprise coloring his features, before he raises an eyebrow and grins boyishly at her. His hand is warm in hers, and the warmth lingers even after he pulls away. It stays with her, even as they walk into the dining hall together and Clarke fails to notice her because she’s too absorbed in Bellamy. Instead of the burning jealousy, there’s just the warmth of contentment. 

It’s not surprising that Clarke would have her figured out, honestly. They’re far more alike than either of them care to admit. It is a bit surprising that Bellamy doesn’t see it. 

She supposes it doesn’t matter now, though. There’s nothing to find anymore. 

#

Eventually, Clarke decides to leave with her family. Abby lets her go without a fight, the best show of support she can bring herself to give. 

They’re better now, but not perfect. Three years later, and Clarke still hasn’t told her a thing about Cas and EJ’s true heritage, no matter how many times Abby’s tried to gently encourage her to do so. 

She doesn’t fight it, but she does mourn the loss she knows she’ll feel when she doesn’t see them around camp every day. It’s why she ends up atop the hill, watching them go from the same position she watched them arrive. 

They’re so different now, she realizes with a smile. No longer are they a fractured group of four, but a family of five, all shared smiles of excitement and joy. It makes her feel warm with happiness for them, despite the melancholy she feels for herself. 

“I thought you’d be more upset.” 

Her smile grows when she hears him approach. It doesn’t surprise her that Marcus followed her. He hadn't changed much these past few years. 

She has, though. 

The person she was last time they stood here would have been livid. She would have been jealous and overwhelmed with the feeling of abandonment, but the person she is now knows better. She knows her daughter loves her and isn’t leaving her. She knows this is for the best. 

She leans into his side as soon as he’s close enough, slotting in under his arm like she's meant to be there. 

She doesn't take her eyes of her daughter and her family as they walk away, but she does take hold of Marcus's hand as she says peacefully, “No. I’m just happy she's happy. That _they're_ happy.” 

Marcus hums in agreement, holding her closer. 

They stay that way for a long time, basking in the comfort of knowing they're happy too. 

#

In the years that follow, things get better, if not perfect. 

Clarke and Bellamy rarely make the trip out to Arcadia, it being much more difficult for them to travel with the children than it is for her to go to them, but she and Marcus are always received well in their settlement. They don’t visit as often as she’d like, because they’re still running things in Arcadia, but they make sure to go twice a year at the very least. In the interim, she and Clarke exchange letters, passed along between messengers. The med-bay is lined with the drawings of her grandchildren. 

Cas even acts as a messenger once she comes of age, smiling and looking more at ease than the sullen, withdrawn child who first entered Arcadia’s gates. 

One day, to Abby’s surprise, the entire family arrives unannounced. 

Cas leads the way, serious but confident as she greets the guards, with a lanky EJ on her heels. At thirteen, he’s growing so fast that he must have gained four inches since she last saw him four months ago. Five-year-old Ana follows him, smiling in that bright and free way of hers, holding little Lolly’s hand. Abby can’t help smiling at their matching set of braids, their hair curling at the ends and so like Clarke’s as a child. 

Bellamy and Clarke bring up the rear, his arm around her as she’s come to expect. Immediately, she notices the swell of Clarke’s stomach and something between a laugh and a groan escapes her, but the easy feeling vanishes when she’s sees their tight expressions. This isn’t a social call, she realizes, even if the little kids don’t. 

She tries to smile when she greets them. The tightness of their smiles mirror her own. She does a better job giving the littles genuine enthusiasm – she does love seeing them – but Cas gives her a look that says she understands. 

“How about an exam?” Abby offers, as soon as it’s reasonable. “Like old times?” 

Clarke nods in relief. “Sounds great, Mom.” 

“Uncle John is here,” Bellamy says to the kids. “Why don’t you go find him and Aunt Emori?” 

Abby wrinkles her nose in distaste, but keeps her mouth shut. She doesn’t understand it, but she doesn’t have to. And she would like privacy for whatever it is that’s concerning them. 

In the end, she sends them off to find the children before dinner while she takes the blood and urine samples to the lab, just to be sure, before offering them anything. Clarke had some symptoms, but nothing too extreme. Mostly, Bellamy watched with worried eyes, squeezing her hand like he did all those years ago when they first found out about Ana, as she admitted in a small voice, “It’s different. Something is off.” 

Abby nearly has a panic attack when she registers the results. 

The high blood pressure she could have written off as the stress of the journey. The headache from dehydration. The swollen hands and feet too, are somewhat normal, depending on the woman. But the protein count is undeniable proof. 

Preeclampsia. 

There were some slight warning signs when Clarke was pregnant with Eulalia two years ago, but it had been winter then, a heavy winter, and they were mostly relegated to their homes anyway. With the cold, they all spent as much time huddled in their beds as possible, particularly the kids. There wasn’t an alternative if they didn’t want to freeze. They’d thankfully had a good spring the year before, with plenty in reserve, and it had been a relatively easy time, despite the harsh conditions. The bed rest and ease of the time had likely been good for the pregnancy. 

It all fits together now, the terrifying pieces of the puzzle she’s never been able to solve, the one she gave up on years ago. 

EJ had always been too small for his age. It had been suspicious, but it was easy to attribute to malnutrition. 

But if Clarke is preeclamptic now, she likely was then too, and EJ was probably premature. If Abby wasn’t there, and she has to believe she wasn’t, and Clarke was alone... between the condition, lack of medical care, and the stress, it would have been impossible to survive. 

This is how her daughter _died._

“No,” she doesn’t realize she’s saying it at first as she leans against the cold metal walls outside the lab. “No. No. No. It can’t happen.” 

“I know you and Blake have issues,” a voice startles her. She looks up to see John Murphy in the doorway staring at her with his arms crossed, “but really, this is their _third_ kid. You delivered the last one. By now it’s practically normal.” 

She glares at him, hoping he’ll go away. She cannot, honest to goodness cannot, deal with him right now. Cannot deal with anyone right now. She came out here to be alone. To plan. To make sure it doesn’t happen again. “I assume you think you’re clever, but if you’ll excuse me...” 

She turns to leave, but his voice stops her, and she looks back at him. 

“You can tell me, you know,” he says, the sarcasm clear and entirely countering the sentiment. She’s about to sneer something condescending – the last thing she needs to deal with is John Murphy right now – but then his face twists with something disturbed and bitter. “Apparently, I can handle it.” 

That gives her pause, and she evaluates him carefully. Cas and EJ have always been particularly fond of him, Ana and Lolly too, but her eldest grandkids took to Murphy with an immediate liking. EJ was always friendly with anyone, but Cas was still skittish in those days. 

“You know,” she accuses. Under her breath, the words escape her, “How is it that _you_ know?” 

He raises a brow at her, face impassive, “I know?” 

She grits her teeth in frustration. It’s an impressive show of nonchalance, but she’s so damn sure. “You know the truth about them.” 

“You'll have to be more specific,” he replies deadpan. “I know a lot about a lot of people.” 

“Do not play with me,” she says coldly. “Clarke is preeclamptic. She could _die_ from this. I need to know. I need to know what happened and when, what’s different, so that she _doesn’t_ this time.” 

Surprise flickers across his features so quickly that she might have mistaken it for a trick of the light had she not been staring at him so intently. Just as quick, it’s gone however, and the ungiving, sardonic look he usually wears is back. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Doc,” he shrugs. “I’m just the messenger. They’re having dinner, and you’re being requested. For some reason, the kids like you.” 

They stare at one another for a moment, her heaving breaths while she tries to contain the rising storm of panic and frustration, and him weighing her with his gaze alone. Eventually, he must find what he’s looking for, because he nods. 

“That’s all I got for you, but Cas was asking about you. You might want to talk to her,” he gives her a little salute before disappearing into the dark. 

She hesitates for only a moment, before taking off to find the girl. 

Cas takes one look at Abby before her eyes widen in terror and she breaks away from friends to meet her. 

“What happened?” the girl demands before Abby can even begin to formulate her question. “Is Mom-" 

That snaps her into action and she's reaching out, squeezing the girl's arm for emphasis as she cuts in, “I need to know how your mother died.” 

Cas yanks herself free with surprising force, reeling back as though struck before she regains her composure. She crosses her arms, giving Abby the same unimpressed look Murphy had. _How had she missed that until now?_. 

“You scared the hell out of me, Abby,” she says harshly. Cas still doesn't call her Grandma, not like the other children, but she says her name with particular harshness now. “I thought – and you just want to ask about my childhood trauma? Mom is going to -" 

“I'm asking for your mom,” she says intently. 

Cas doesn’t miss the implication, her blue eyes widening in surprised understanding. Her face pales and she swallows thickly, but she doesn't offer any denials or ask for an explanation. Quietly, in a small voice, she says, “Complications from childbirth. That's all I can tell you…” her eyes drop to the ground, as if she's ashamed that she doesn't know more. “I was five, Abby. I didn't even remember what she looked like.” 

Abby deflates, taking the girl's hands and squeezing reassuringly. She waits for Cas to look at her before saying, “Thank you for telling me. You did good, Cassandra. I'm going to take care of it, alright?” 

#

She explains Clarke's condition, painfully, to a distressed Bellamy and disturbingly calm Clarke, and puts Clarke on bedrest while they decide what to do. Normal protocol, at least on the Ark, dictates immediate delivery of the baby. Clarke is only twenty-nine weeks, however, and even with the salvaged equipment from Mount Weather, they don’t have the means to guarantee their son would survive. She doesn’t bother making the offer. Instead, they all agree the Blake family will stay in Arcadia for the time being, so she can carefully monitor Clarke’s condition until they can safely deliver the baby, without risking Clarke’s health either. 

It’s a fine line to walk, and she’s plagued by worst-case scenarios, haunting both her nightmares and her waking hours. When it becomes too much, she begins to consider Cas and EJ, and the implications of time travel. 

She sits on that for a week before she finally cracks and approaches Monty and Raven. 

Raven is the smartest person she knows, and Monty is a surprisingly close second. He comes with the added benefit of moonshine. 

Given Clarke’s condition and her distress, neither of them question why she has suddenly decided she needs to get good and drunk. Nor do they question her desire to drink alone with the two of them. Though they do exchange a confused look when Murphy and Emori join them without her protest. She’s probably halfway gone at that point, Raven and Monty even farther gone than she is, but she has enough wits to know that those two pose no threat. Hell, they may be able to help. 

It’s short work to get Raven to talk about explosives and transition it into the lab she had Jasper destroy. From there she maneuvers the conversation into Jaha and the ramblings about time travel he gave when questioned (the one she made up explicitly for this purpose). 

“But how does it even _work_?” she asks incredulous, slurring a little for effect. Murphy gives her a side-eye that clearly says too much, so she dials it back. “I mean, if you _change_ things, why would you even decide to go _back_ in the future?” 

“You wouldn’t,” Monty says prompt. “It would create a paradox.” 

Raven nods, and Abby feels something in her deflate. Her thoughts are a confusing, jumbled mess, but she knows she truly believed it. Even hoped that if she made the wrong call, if something went wrong, she could potentially fix it. 

She tries not to let it show, frowning slightly instead. “That’s not what he said. He said the AI told him he could go back, and rewrite history. Live life differently.” 

Monty shakes his head, hiccupping slightly before saying firmly, “Impossible.” 

“Not necessarily,” Raven says slowly, twirling her drink. 

“Yes, necessarily,” Monty rebuts, shooting her a disbelieving look. 

Raven scowls, “Well, fine, technically. You could avoid it, though, if you were traveling to parallel dimensions.” 

“Science fiction, really? That’s where we’ve landed?” Murphy challenges her with a scoff. “Real original, Reyes. Glad you’re so much smarter than my comic books.” 

“Fuck off, Murphy,” Raven shoots back. “It’s not your childish shit. The theory goes that space-time is flat, and thereby limited to... well, it’s a ridiculously high number, but the point is, that the possible configurations of the universe are limited. If taken an infinite number of times, the universe is bound to repeat itself or be off by only a few particles.” 

“So nearly identical universes,” Monty says nodding along. “If you could theoretically get yourself there, you’d find yourself in near identical circumstances, but the final configuration would be changed by your presence.” 

“Exactly, the starting universe would still exist, minus your presence, and the near-identical universe could be altered to suit your needs.” 

“What does that mean, exactly?” Abby cuts in. She’s drunk, but she can admit she’d have trouble following it sober. 

To her surprise, it’s Emori who answers. “No, I think I get it,” she says with a dawning grin as she leans forward intently. “So, the traveler wouldn't be changing _their_ past. They _couldn’t_ , because they’re not there. They’re somewhere that _looks_ like their past, and they’re changing the future of that particular past, but theirs still exists somewhere.” 

“Yes!” Raven crows. She slaps the girl on the shoulder, leaning on her for support. “You are fucking _brilliant_. How the _fuck_ did you end up with John Murphy of all people?” 

“Whatever,” Murphy mutters, but the set of his mouth is quirked up behind his glass. “My comics were way fucking cooler. A different universe for every possible decision. Now that was fucking _brilliant_.” 

“There’s actually a foundation for that too,” Monty chimes in again. Murphy groans, muttering under his breath about knowing better than to leave an opening like that, but Monty continues anyway. “Daughter universes. Law of probability, each decision branching out into more and more possibilities.” 

“ _Alright_ ,” Murphy cuts in. “Please, I want to get drunk, not get a theoretical – whatever lesson.” He shoots Abby a look. “Jaha was batshit crazy and Jasper took care of all his shit anyway. Who cares?” 

Abby swallows thickly, but nods. He’s right. This was a pointless endeavor. That much, she understood. 

The conversation wanders from there. By the end of the night, she doesn’t feel better, but she doesn’t feel worse either. She may not be able to change history, if something goes wrong, but the future isn’t set in stone either. 

#

Tiberius “Ty” Blake is born six weeks later, at thirty-six weeks gestational age. It’s earlier than Clarke wanted, and he’s smaller than her other newborns, but he’s strong. He’s a survivor. He’s healthy enough, and Clarke is too. 

It isn’t an overstatement to say that all of Arcadia rejoices in the news. 

Despite having left their settlement nearly three years ago now, Clarke and Bellamy both remain well known, influential members of the community. Between their own importance – as members of the hundred, for what they did in Mount Weather, for their representation on the council and the alliance with the grounder coalition that Clarke secured – enough people feel invested in them to be worried on their own, but it doesn't help that some of the most important people in Arcadia. Herself, Kane, Raven, a handful of other heads of various departments are stressed to the breaking point by the situation, and the effects of their state is felt from the guard to the kitchen workers. 

When Abby emerges from the med bay with the news, it's like the dark cloud that’s been hovering dissipates and the cheer their friends let out is picked up and carried throughout camp. 

It's absurd. 

Abby lets out a laugh that is half a cry and Raven hugs her. Miller nods his congratulations but quickly takes his leave, offering to ride to Clarke and Bellamy's settlement to bring Octavia, who has been running things there in her brother's absence, the news. Kane smiles proudly and Jasper prods Monty until he offers a round of celebratory shots. Abby is just about to decline, it's too soon for her to feel at ease, but then Murphy materializes at her side, taking the drink meant for her. 

“Cas is looking for you,” he says without preamble. Her stomach drops. She left the entire Griffin-Blake family together to meet little Ty and bond. Murphy waves away her worries. “It’s ‘family time', she said. Better get going, Grandma.” 

It's a taunt, but she's too overwhelmed to rise to the challenge. 

Cassandra is waiting for her outside when she gets back to the med bay, her face lighting up when she sees her. Neither of them have mentioned the conversation they almost two months ago now. She doesn’t believe they ever will. Cas does seem to like her more now, though, that she’s followed through on her promise. 

“There you are. Come on, Moms been asking for you. Dad offered to come find you, but you know how she gets when he's gone.” 

Abby laughs despite herself, all lingering worry vanishing. If something were wrong, Bellamy _would_ have come running. It's still a little surreal to think of him with fondness, but she can't help it. These past few weeks with Clarke on bedrest had been a nightmare for everyone, but particularly for him, who Clarke couldn’t bear to have out of sight but couldn't stop snarling at. Bellamy took it all, foregoing trips outside camp and taking the brunt of her frustrations, with unerring patience. 

Abby might just love her son-in-law these days. 

He's got an arm around Clarke, smiling down at her and little Ty in her arms with Lolly on his hip when she walks in. Ana sits on the bed at Clarke's other side, EJ hovering protectively to make sure she neither falls off the bed or on top of their new sibling, smiling just as widely as his father. Cas immediately joins him, throwing her arm around him, completing the picture of their happy family. 

It's beautiful. 

Clarke looks up and meets her gaze. She smiles gratefully, silently extending Abby an invitation to join them. Bellamy follows her gaze and steps to the side, allowing Abby to step closer. 

Tracing the softness of Ty's cheek, Abby has never been so grateful in her entire life. They may not be entirely out of the woods yet, probably never will be so long as they're on the ground, but she can't think of anything more to ask for in this moment.


End file.
